


Hold Me with Your Eyes

by statiictine



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: F/M, next to brahms "I sniff panties for a kink and throw people down the stairs" heelshire, you ever think about how everybody basically writes emily like a huge irredeemable bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statiictine/pseuds/statiictine
Summary: Been looking at a few things to post to ensure that no, I'm not *dead* and decided on rushing the ending of another short little orphaned drabble piece (hopefully it's not too much of a whiplash).Comments and Kudos appreciated.





	Hold Me with Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Been looking at a few things to post to ensure that no, I'm not *dead* and decided on rushing the ending of another short little orphaned drabble piece (hopefully it's not too much of a whiplash).  
> Comments and Kudos appreciated.

Her hands edge to the outer makings of his mask, creeping towards the fine line of string hoisting it all together. Brahms grabs her wrist before she can contribute to any more damage. Emily pokes her lips out in a pout. "I have a right to know."

  
"No, you don't." he snarls. His bravado cracks at the small motions Emily makes with her hips in contact with his. Lidded eyes pique his arousal.

  
"You tried to kill me, and yet here you are like a devil from the ashes," her other hand dips itself from between her lifted legs and grips onto Brahms, giggling at both the hardening flesh and his flustered reaction. "I showed you my little nicks and scabs, the least you can do is show me what my pretty boy is hiding under all this cracked glass."

  
Emily follows his eyes through the motions of momentary fear, anger complimented by a nosed exhale of heightening fury, then something the woman didn't expect. A look of resolve.

  
The vice he has on Emily's wrists loosens slightly. Hesitant, he lets long, shaky digits pull the string of the mask thin, allowing himself to be at the mercy of the perched woman in his lap. His heart only quickens at the curiosity sparkling unapologetically in her eyes, again tracing delicate trails on the framing of the mask. Brahms feels his ears burn up at the sight. Emily must've taken notice by the way she chuckles in earnest, reassurance filling those dreamy hazel blue eyes of hers. And she lets the curtain of feigned security slip between her fingers and gently onto the floor, revealing the true man underneath.

  
_Well then._

  
She doesn't even try to hide her shock and surprise of the reveal. Scars and burn marks scatter throughout the surface of his face and down his neck, forever remnants of the fire the Heelshires mercilessly cast upon their own child in an effort to save their own skin. The worst of it looks as though it cost the man his own eye, dulled to a hazy hue and missing a pluck or two of the hair of his eyebrow. Emily almost doesn't know what to make of the sight.

Brahms' face contorts in a look of pure rage in his own confirmation of her disgust before he's pushed down by the weight of her lips and her body, slamming into him with a squelched smack and a drag of a moan vibrating the back of her throat, her tongue, her lips.

  
Emily breaks the kiss in a sloppily moment of passion. The shine of her love bitten, pinkened lips almost as bright as the fire in her eyes of a woman unapologetic in her lust and admiration.

  
"Brahms Wilhelm Heelshire," She lowers her face back down to his, holding either side of his cheeks, letting long streams of blonde fall between them like a curtain. Inches away from the cataclysm of flustered exasperation and horniness plain as day on his face, she couldn't hide the smugness of her effect on the man any longer. "If I had known you were hiding a blazing hot face under that prissy little mask of yours, I would've told you to take it off sooner."

  
She almost half expects the anger in Brahms's heart to take reigns in pushing her off the now soaked wetness of his lap and maybe something worse. Emily's silently thankful and humored in the subversion of her expectations by the squinted, scrunched up expression of pouty annoyance Brahms used to give her when they were kids.

  
"You know that's not funny Emily."

  
Emily playfully stuck out her tongue. "It absolutely is and _you_ know it, Brahmsy."


End file.
